The Color of Money

This photograph indicates Linda, Jill and I graduated in 1986 as does the front cover to this book. I didn't, however, they did. I walked through the ceremony with my best friends; however, I wasn’t graduating with them. We were late arriving as Waikiki Beach kept us longer than anticipated. As a result, we had to sit in the back of the auditorium with the math department instead of up front with the fashion department. How ironic as math is a subject I detest.

The truth is I failed Business Math and was instructed to take it again after tutoring for a year with a math professor. Instead, I “graduated” in the hallway of the Fashion Merchandising department while Dr. Carol Ann Dickson handed me a rolled up version of a diploma.

            Early on in grade school, I knew certain pieces of information were not clicking, were not registering and were not being received in the correct section of my brain. In my small high school, I alone brought the class Grade Point Average down with my failing test grades. Sitting in the back of the classroom, my classmate’s would turn around to stare at me.

            Leaving the comfort of my parent’s home after graduating high school, I followed my four best friends lead in heading on to higher levels of education. Attending a fashion–related school in Long Beach, I was hospitalized from the stress of failing my classes.

            Although I’d never skipped a day of school in my life, this was not enough to sustain my grades. With each attempt at higher learning, I left the institution with a 2.0 grade point average – or lower. I finally obtained an AA degree from Brooks Fashion Institute in Long Beach, California.

            Transferring to the University of Hawaii at Manoa, (U.H.) I was thrilled beyond words, however, not all my units from Brooks Fashion Institute were useable, which added another year of schooling. This did not matter; studying in the Land of Paradise would surely bring me the calm I needed and then I would be proud of my scholarly attempts. In my first month, I was told to join the Learning Assistance Program for students with learning disabilities.

            It was in my oral presentations I excelled. After taking the Meyers Briggs Personality Test, the instructor asked me to stand before the class. She said, “Students, this is the single most outgoing person you will ever see. Watch her sail through these courses to graduation.” I cringed at her sure words. It was in Business Math I failed.

            When graduation time came in 1986, I begged Dr. Carol Ann Dickson, my math professor, to allow me to walk with our group through the ceremony. The only catch was I asked her not to tell anyone I failed; I wasn’t really graduating. She agreed only because my presentations were outstanding and the stories I wrote caught her attention.

            She required me to take a year off from school, hire a math tutor, and then take her Business Math course the following year. I agreed. Across the street from the university was Punahou, a private high school. It was there I met Mike, my new math tutor.

            For a year, through rain and shine, on my bicycle I rode to Punahou High School for my tutoring session. When working together, I seemed to grasp the capacity to regurgitate the information he just relayed. I never told Mike I didn’t actually have a clue what he was saying.

            With my tutoring year completed, I came to Mike for my final session. He handed me a billing statement for his time and I stood absolutely stunned and speechless. The bill may as well have read, “Pay $10,000 now to the order of Mike, the Tutor.”

            Didn’t Mike realize I worked part time at night after school? Didn’t he realize I was on student loans from U.H.? Didn’t he realize I was eating just rice and peanut butter? But, but? Instead, I humbly stood before him and said, “Mike, I’m sorry, there’s no way I can ever repay you for your time. You will need to call the university and turn me in.” With that, I walked out his classroom door.

            A week later, Dr. Dickson approached me to say Mike called and needed to see me at once. Terrified, I said, “Dr. Dickson, let me explain.” She said, “Mike said you forgot your sweater and he wants to give it back to you.”

            That seemed plausible. I jumped on my bicycle, headed across the street, up the steep hill and locked my bike. I walked into Mike’s class room to find him sitting at his desk. That’s when he said, “Debbie, I have a deal for you. I know you’re in the fashion department at U.H. Come to my home, look it over and do whatever you can to bring it to life.”

            Walking out of his room, I knew I’d better move quickly before tears welled up. I rode my bicycle to his home, taking notes and making sketches with colored pencils from my back pack. From there, I rode my bicycle to the fabric store at the Ala Moana Shopping Center.

            With two extra large bags of fabrics, thread, buttons and stuffing, I headed back to the U.H. sewing department. Mrs. Yoder, the perfectionist, was still there. I asked if I could use one of the sewing machines. She gave me the key to lock up her room when I finished.

            Throughout the night, I sewed and sewed some more. The following morning, I handed Mrs. Yoder her key. When 8:00 a.m., arrived, I put the over-stuffed pillows back into the large plastic bags then jumped on my bicycle and rode over to Punahou to meet Mike.

            Handing him the brand new “homemade” pillows, I prayed he would like them. Taking the bags of pillows from my hands, he pulled each of them out very carefully while I held my breath. Holding the large brown one with colorful stripes to his chest, he said he could not wait for the day to end so he could head to his house and create a home. Can you imagine how I must have felt? But now, it was time to take my math final again.

            I rode my bicycle to Dr. Dickson’s class for the final. Sitting alone in the class with Dr. Dickson, I stared blankly at the exact pages Mike drilled into me the past year. I was not able to answer one question. Standing up to leave the room, Dr. Dickson told me to wait outside in the hallway. Nearly 10 minutes passed when she walked out to find me sitting on the floor. Standing up, I went to explain to her I didn’t know why I was unable to do the math test.

In her strong Southern drawl, she said, “Debbie, I am pleased to announce you passed by one point.” Shaking my head from left to right, she stared at me with that look and repeated, “Debbie, here is your diploma. Now, get out of here and begin your career as a fashion show producer.”

            Here I am 22 years later, thinking about the way my bill was paid.  I’m thanking both Mike, my math tutor, and Dr. Carol Ann Dickson, my math professor, from U.H. Together; they showed me debts can be repaid by means other than the color of money. 

Spencer

            Most of my years growing up, I was too mischievous for my own good. My mother told me I was born wearing golden boxing gloves; a powerfully strong infant, weighing 10 pounds and 4 ounces, prepared for a fighting match.

One evening when I was five, my mother went to dinner with a friend. Our favorite grandmother, Grammy Lou, was the baby-sitter for Ross, my four-year-old brother, and me. The moment my mother drove away, I took a bottle of children's chewable, orange-flavored aspirin from the medicine cabinet and dangled it in front of Ross’ nose. This bottle had no safety lid and I opened it with ease. I told Ross the aspirin was candy and I watched him eat every one!

When my mother returned a couple of hours later, she noticed Ross sprawled on the living room floor while Grammy Lou and I watched television. Grammy and I thought Ross was asleep. When my mother was unable to rouse Ross for bed, she asked, “Debbie, what’s wrong with Ross?!” I told her it could be because of some baby aspirin. When she asked how many, I showed her the empty bottle. I watched her face turn to shock. She asked how many tablets he ate and I said, “All of them. He thought they were candy!”

My mother called 911 and an ambulance arrived minutes later. After having his stomach pumped, Ross was required to remain overnight in the hospital. When my mother arrived home without him, I began crying hysterically. I thought I killed him and it was then I knew how much I loved my brother.

Because of this incident, and years of shenanigans as a teenager, I told my mother I’d decided to never marry or have children. I was terrified karma would provide a tiny version of myself, a mini me. She told me one day I’d change my mind. She was convinced I’d be a wonderful mother.

As an adult, the times of my life continued. There were more friends than I could count. Together, we attended endless parties, concerts, social events and other invitations. I believed I would live life this way until finally skidding to my grave.

When I was 33, I drank myself into a terrifying stupor, while angels floated about my head. When I awoke, a revelation had taken place; an epiphany, if you will. What I’d been doing most of my years wasn’t the way I wanted to live the rest of my days. I knew I wanted to lead a calmer existence; be married and become a mother.

At 36 years of age, my visions began coming true. I married and seven months later, learned I was pregnant. I was positive I was going to have a girl; little did I know another plan was in store. After 60 hours of labor, a healthy, screaming boy was placed in my arms.

Spencer, my son, is nearly 13-years-old now. He’s providing an image of how growing up can be; he’s nothing like me as a child. While I’m still boisterously outgoing, he’s on the quiet side. In school, I struggled with my studies, bringing home D’s and F’s on my report card and yet, never skipped class. Spencer maintains his honor roll status with ease. While I have a lot of fire in my temperament and can be high strung, Spencer is peaceful. At times, I envy this quality.

Although I divorced eight years ago, Spencer and I are surrounded by our exceptional family of friends. Too, he and I have each other. We run our ranch to several rescued farm animals; living a healthy, fulfilled, wholesome and organic life. Together, Spencer and I are strong.

When my mother was dying, she promised to guide Spencer and me from above. I was concerned I wouldn’t be the best mother to Spencer without her direction. It’s been over nine years since she passed; I continue doing as I believe she would suggest.

My mother was right in the wisdom she relayed when I was a teenager. Because of Spencer, I’m more than I ever imagined possible. With Spencer, I’m learning all I need to know about life. 

When I was five, I went to my brother

with candied pills, hidden by our mother

He gobbled them up because he knew

if they came from me, they’d be good for you

The minutes passed and his eyes rolled back

from the aspirin making his heart attack

Grammy and I sat watching TV

while Ross tried to sit and be with me

Collapsed on the floor without a sound

his world was spinning ‘round and ‘round

Mom came home and found him still

the ambulance came and with the will

Of help from them and up above

I learned it’s Ross I dearly love

The years rolled past; I became a mother

to you, my son, there is no other

Who teaches me of a better way

to be who I am, to have my say

Free from anger, fear and pain

to smell the fragrance of the rain

You tell me when my impatience flares

with those who only have their cares

And miss the beating of other hearts

here with us, is where it starts

Because of you, I’ve grown to be

a little more patient; more carefree

Of making life too complicated

the person I was before you, I hated

Our life is rich in so many ways

we’re strong together, even on those days

When it seems our backs are against the wall

we remind each other to stand quite tall

When the rubber meets the road, it’s me and you

we know somewhere, out of the blue

Great news is bound to come our way

perhaps on the dawning of this day

I’m raising you and we will see

the person I’m still learning to be.

Tara's Tale

               One Saturday evening, Tara and Tom, her husband, walked into their favorite restaurant for a dinner celebration with friends. Two hours later, Tara was unable to walk and carried out the front doors on a stretcher to an awaiting ambulance.

            The following Monday morning at school, Peggy Moore came running up and said, “Tara’s had a stroke in her spine and is told she won’t walk again. She’s at a rehabilitation hospital for the next six weeks. I want to put a fund together, but they’re vegan and I don’t know what that is.” I explained vegans don’t eat anything, which has ever touched an animal. This includes cheese and milk. I told Peggy the best thing for the school to do is gather money for a gift certificate to Whole Foods.

            At the time of Tara’s injury, our children attended Kings Mountain Elementary, a tiny school of only 72 students. Our children all knew each other, but several of the parents hadn’t actually met Tara and Tom. Both working parents, Tara made sure to walk Ryan, their son, up to his classroom each morning. Before racing off to work, Tara always gently leaned over to kiss her young son good-bye.

            I wanted to help Tara, Tom and Ryan in some manner, however, I didn’t know them personally. I went home and looked for Tom’s cell number on the school roster. I was nervous trying to figure out how to explain who I was and why I was calling. When Tom answered his telephone, I said, “Uh, hello, this is Spencer Gilson’s mom from Kings Mountain School.” Tom knew who Spencer was as he and Ryan are friends. I told Tom I learned of Tara’s news and wanted to help somehow. He said Tara and I could begin emailing as she had access to a computer at the rehabilitation facility.

            Sending Tara my first email, I learned she knew who I was from Ryan and this helped tremendously. I told her I am very familiar with the vegan diet as I am a vegetarian. We hit it off like a house of thunder and began correspondence during her six week duration at the facility.

            Tom brought Tara to Kings Mountain School to say hello to an awaiting crowd. When I saw her for the first time in her wheelchair, I was too stunned to move. It was true; Tara really was no longer walking. She was surrounded by well-wishers, who sent their love and prayers to her while she was away. Tom and Ryan proudly stood by and watched Tara being consumed by the tight-knit closeness of our school community.

            Finally, I saw a break in the crowd and as I stepped forward, Tara’s arms opened wide. We hugged as if waiting forever to be united. Seeing Tara in her new stage in life was overwhelming, though I remained strong in her presence. Her big beautiful smile and huge blue eyes were exactly as I’d known before her incident. These expressions of her soul remained intact.

            The company Tara worked for over the years put together a fundraiser shortly after she arrived home. Hundreds of people from all over our community attended to help cover costs of Tara’s transition. Their home was changed to accommodate Tara’s wheelchair; her car was modified with hand controls. Medical bills, which were not covered by their insurance, had less of an impact with money raised from the benefit.

            Nine months after Tara’s incident, she went into surgery to have a medicine pump installed to control her leg spasms. She went back to the rehabilitation facility for approximately three weeks so the doctors could monitor her newest medication. Seven months later, Tara had surgery to repair the pump as it became entangled inside her body. Several months after that, Tara endured another surgery to re-route her bladder function. A tube was inserted into her belly button, going directly to her bladder for easier functioning. Nearly 18 months after her incident, Tom found a van that changed Tara’s life, giving her back a measure of independence. The van has a ramp so Tara can easily come and go with her wheelchair.

            I’ve never seen Tara cry over this incredible change in her life. Sometimes, I have difficulty grasping what happened and try to keep my perspective. I need to know why life events take place and there aren’t always immediate answers, if ever. The one thing Tara knows for sure is four days prior to her incident, she had a birth control injection. Did this cause the stroke in her spine, leaving her paralyzed from her chest to her toes?

            When I play kickball or badminton with Spencer, my son, I think of Tara. When I walk out to pasture to pet my animals, I think of Tara, also an avid animal lover. When Tara and her family come to visit, I try to have the animals come to the gate so she can pet them. I easily climb in and out of my truck and Tara will cross my mind.

            Tara doesn’t get dressed, use the bathroom or shower the way she once did and this is incredibly frustrating for her. Before driving to a new establishment, she calls ahead making sure it is wheelchair accessible. She double-checks every move she will make before leaving her home. Her long blond hair is now cut to her shoulders; it’s easier for Tom to wash. The things I do without thinking force me to think of Tara.

            I’m much more thoughtful of other’s needs because of what Tara, Tom and Ryan experienced. When I see a capable woman walk into the handicapped stall of a public bathroom, I cringe. When someone able-bodied parks in a handicapped space, I picture Tara stranded without a close parking spot. If someone is having difficulty walking to a door, Spencer runs to open it for them.

            My life is enriched by the addition of our new friends. When we get together, I enjoy pushing Tara in her wheelchair. I tease her about popping wheelies in the parking lot and getting speeding tickets. Tara is a beautiful being whose life fell apart and was put back together in a most profound way. Because of her incident, Tara’s met people she never realized existed. I’ve learned a lifetime in the past three years from Tara’s tale. 

Murder on Hillview Road

Witnessing a murder is only something you read about. My girlfriends and I were on our way home from an enjoyable evening. It was 2:10 in the morning. As a 32-year-old, it still felt great to be single and carefree. Lynn, my good friend since we were young teen-agers, was driving her two-door Honda hatchback. Marie, our other childhood friend, fell asleep in the backseat. I dozed off in the front passenger seat.

Suddenly, I felt Lynn anxiously tapping my arm. She urged me to wake up and take a look at the scene on the corner. We stopped at a signal at the corner of Hillview Road and Connecticut Avenue. Several young men, appearing to be in their early 20’s, were involved in a fight with two other young men at the bank on the corner. I told Lynn we needed to help.

            When we rolled down our windows and started yelling, several of the men ran away. In spite of our hollering, two of the assailants continued to attack the other two and now threaten us.  Lynn and I responded with more shouting and screaming. As the victims attempted to back away, one of the assailants stabbed each of them several times. The two victims landed flat on their backs, on the street near my door. One assailant fell to his knees and continued stabbing.

I jumped out of the car and stretched my body across the two victims. With my head facing the ground and the bodies under me, I could clearly see an assailant’s shoes. He swiftly moved around me, proceeding to violently kick each of the two victims. Fortunately, he did not touch me. All of a sudden, he stopped his attack. Lynn jumped out of her car, grabbed her baseball bat from the trunk and chased the two assailants away. Marie, too terrified to move, stayed in the car.

            With the assailants out of the picture, I asked the two young men their names. They responded, “Bobby,” and “Scott.” As I kneeled between them, holding one hand in each of each my own, I continued talking with them in an effort to determine exactly why the attack happened.

Bobby and Scott were drinking heavily at a pub across the street near the bank. They ran out of cash and went to the bank for more drinking money. As it turned out another young man, of African American and Caucasian descent, was also at the ATM. Apparently Bobby and Scott, both white males 23 years old, began shouting racial insults at him. They were unaware he was accompanied by several friends waiting for him in the car.

            Observing Bobby and Scott’s bloodied clothing revealed the severity of their wounds. I requested someone to call an ambulance and the police. Several cars drove over the sidewalk around us, quickly speeding away. A young woman with long blond hair came running up, pleading with me not to let Bobby die. I told her to get away; shortly thereafter another friend came to her assistance.

Scott repeated, “Please don’t let me die.” All at once, Bobby’s hand felt less firm in mine. I looked into his eyes, watching as he gazed into the distance. I wondered, “What is he watching?” His handsome young face became less drawn, somewhat softer. A slight smile curved his lips in an upward direction. I laid my head on his chest, feeling one final beat of his heart. Lynn came running up and as I pointed to Bobby, I told her he just died. In the background, I heard screams of the young woman with long blond hair. Later, we learned she was Bobby’s girlfriend, the mother of their infant child.

            The ambulance and police arrived shortly thereafter. The entire area, including Lynn’s car, was taped off. The sleeping bag, Lynn provided as cover for Bobby and Scott, was confiscated as evidence. Detective Kathryn Anderson escorted us to the police station. There, we were asked to detail our story several times and finally, at 6:00 a.m., Lynn, Marie and I were allowed to return home. The night was long and cold. As I sat in a hot bath, the events of the entire evening played over and over in my head. I kept asking myself, “Did this incident of racially driven violence really happen?”

            A tremendous feeling of stress fell heavily on the shoulders of Lynn, Marie and me. We feared the assailants would not be captured, allowing them to be free after committing such a crime. Detective Anderson was able to piece together enough evidence to identify and apprehend the alleged stabber. She tracked the activity at the ATM that night, which led to his identification.

Despite his youth, he was 17 years old; Detective Anderson was familiar with his long-standing criminal record. Shortly after he was picked up, we were asked to identify him in a police line-up. The line-up at the juvenile detention center was disturbing.

A two-way mirror was not provided and the young men could clearly see us. In fact, one winked at Lynn. Lynn quickly and accurately identified the perpetrator, thereby confirming Detective Anderson’s findings. When the assailant was identified, the young men in the line-up were brought through the lobby, where the three of us were sitting. Naturally, we were the objects of their attention.

Lynn, Marie and I, provided a most admirable scenario for the police who acknowledged our contributions in bringing a criminal to justice. “Three young women came to the aid of victims whom they never met.” In the end a murderer was sent to prison.

Each of us was honored with a letter from the Chief of Police, a Certificate of Valor, and a poster-sized acknowledgement, from the Office of the Attorney General, Department of Justice, and the State. This was for outstanding service to the community and state and for heroic action in support of criminal justice. We were also presented with a Resolution Award from the mayor, commending us for our exemplary and heroic citizenship.

            Lynn, Marie and I have known each other since 1973. Our families are very close. We were raised with the same set of values, adopting a sense of responsibility, motivating us to aid and assist when necessary. If given another opportunity, I am certain each of us would once again help someone in need. This incident helped shape me. I am privileged to be an integral part of life, understanding the domino effect we have on one another. 

Katydid

             She’s an angel in human form. I met Katy when I was 13. My family and I recently moved to Redding, leaving ranch life behind. The day after we arrived at our new home, I met Katy, Donna, and Susan, who were playing down the road outside Donna’s house. Instantly, a group of four friends was formed as they accepted me into their close-knit circle. It didn’t take long for us to name our group The Movie Stars.

            When she was four-years-old, Katy was in a tree fort being built by her father. The four sides were not yet up, however, Katy and her older brothers enjoyed playing in it. Knowing Katy was terrified of creepy-crawly bugs, her older brothers showed her a worm one day when she was quietly playing alone in the tree house. Terrified, Katy backed away from her brothers and the worm. She tumbled out from an unfinished side of the tree fort and landed flat on her back. She was knocked unconscious from the fall; her brothers ran into the house and alerted their mother.

            An ambulance arrived minutes later and Katy was raced to the hospital.  It appeared as though there was no damage to Katy's tiny body and she was released to her mother. Once they arrived home, Katy told her mother about her terribly hurting head. It was assumed this was only a minor side effect of the fall. It was then her mother gave Katy the nickname after Katydid, the insect.        

Katy and I enjoy sharing our thoughts on the world, trials, tribulations and life’s events. It’s nearly impossible to find someone with whom you can share your heart’s desires. She refrains from telling you why what you want is wrong. With Katy, I could be crying and she might say, “Yes, I hear everything you’re saying. You feel sad, hurt, betrayed and angry. What can you do to you feel better? I think a trip to Bath & Body Works is a good place to start.” Right away, I calm down; I’ve been heard and understood. She guides me to eventually finding my own answers.

            For her birthday a couple of years ago, I interviewed Katy. I wrote down what she said and titled it, “I Am Katy.” This is what she wants her loved ones to know.

            Before she is dust in the wind, Katy wants it known who she really is. She is actually not a movie star; she hopes this is not a requirement for capturing your attention. She, like you, came into this life with a mission. She is required by God to fulfill this mission as a moral, complicated, trusting, knowing, caring, understanding, positive, healthy, selfless, admirable, generous, spiritual, respectable, confident, funny, strong, perceptive, accomplished, graceful, grateful, creative, inspiring, courageous, honorable, empathetic, sympathetic, attentive and loving human being. Also, she is fashion conscious.

            When the vulnerable are at risk of danger or harassment, she is the first to take a stand on their behalf. Do not challenge her; she is an unexplainable force. Should you attempt to cloud her thinking with negativity, she will walk away. If you are in Katy’s company, she invited you. You are someone with whom she wishes to spend her time; someone she values and feels comfortable having around those she loves.

            She, too, works through the love of God, as Mother Theresa continues to do from above. Like Diana, Princess of Wales, she will show her sons the face of poverty in other children. You may think you know her; perhaps one day you will read her words.

            Listen closely, Katy’s family of friends, and honor her now before her funeral. She is not here for long; neither are you. Let it be known, she is Katy; my cherished friend.

Where did you come from, Katy, dear?

straight from heaven, blue and clear

Continuing another angelic task

for those in need you rarely ask

Questions of them; you already know

what one needs; you always glow

Your wings will be open wide

for those who need shelter inside

If we’re lucky, we’ll see you’re more

than anyone we’ve met before

We’ll treat you with tender loving care

for you are someone we would not dare

To have escape and leave our life

you’re a mother, daughter, sister, and wife

You’re my friend; you’re one of the best

I phone you when life puts me to test

You calm me down, my worries fade

I thank God you were made

You came straight from the crystal blue

paving the path for me to you.

Julie

                  Aunt Audrey’s and Uncle Ron’s prayers were answered when they adopted a two-year-old girl. Julie arrived on their doorstep, wearing a red one-piece swimsuit and clutching her beloved stuffed animal. They thought about changing her name. Eric, their six-year-old son, asked, “How would you like having your name changed? Don’t change a thing about her.”

            Julie grew up to have three children of her own with Tom, her husband. Frank, my stepfather, and Frannie, my mother, treated her as if she were their own child. Truly, she is like a sister to me. She had the biggest crush on Ross, my brother. She used to ask my mother, “Aunt Frannie, is it okay if I like Ross? We’re not blood related, so it’s fine, right?”

            When Julie was 15, she flew to the Hawaiian Islands to visit for a week. I was working toward my degree in fashion merchandising at the University of Hawaii. Shari, my roommate, and I had several gorgeous male Brazilian friends, whom Julie met. These fellows were at our high-rise apartment nearly every night, either making Brazilian spaghetti for all of us or enjoying a meal prepared by Shari, a fabulous chef.

            The week with Julie flew by like the wind. Desperate to have her stay longer, I placed a telephone call to Aunt Audrey, asking whether it was okay. She said yes and Julie’s trip was extended! The parties, concerts, dinners, beach time and fun went on another four weeks. All of us had the time of our lives; we wished it would never end.

            As Julie grew up, she learned there are times when life seems too hard. We might wonder if it’s all worth the struggle. I’ve learned it’s always worth it and when the chips are down, someone is just a phone call away. Julie and I call each other still when we need a sympathetic ear. In fact, we just hung up after a conversation. We will always find comfort in each other’s voices and wish each other the very best life has to offer. Here’s to Julie, my sisterly cousin, who was brought to us 40 years ago, just in the nick of time.

           

You came to us; you were nearly two

straight from heaven with eyes so blue

In your arms you held so tight

Mogey Bear, with all your might

Who knew you had a tiny, red

one-piece swimsuit and plans ahead?

Your name is Julie Karen indeed,

“Don’t change her name!” your brother did plead

It was late in the summer of ‘69

your foster parents said, “She’s yours, not mine”

We knew this all along, you see

you planted the wish, you knew you’d be

The one to come to Parker Avenue

to share the love, your heart anew

You grew into a loving mother

who wouldn’t trade your life for another

Your three children know of your past

united again, at long last

They’ve waited many lives, it seems

to fulfill so many unfilled dreams

To be held closely in your arms

cradled so safely from life’s harms

Audrey, your mother, is close at hand

to comfort you when life’s not grand

Ron, your father, waits by the TV

for you to watch football you see

You, his daughter, are the only one

who knows exactly what play’s been done

Together, you cheer for your mighty team

together, you share a common theme

Of one day sitting together again

on the sofa or bench chair; in the den

It doesn’t matter when, how, or where

as long as you touch first fingers and share

This road of life you’ve always known

with Eric, Mom and Daddyo you’ve shown

It’s all about love in the grand scheme of life

You’ve felt deep pain, you’ve seen such strife

You’re waiting for the day you rest

You’ve had far too many a test

Uncle Frank calls you Julie Poops

from up above, Aunt Frannie snoops

To check on you where angels tread

as the tapestry of your life is thread

Don’t give up, my sisterly cousin

we’ve had many lives, more than a dozen

You’ll be home soon enough

it’s not your time, although life’s rough

Pick up the phone when you need to hear

my voice for you, I am still near

This day of your birth, you will turn 40

I hope you believe you are still sporty

And funny and thoughtful and full of grace

you have the gentlest, kindest face

Look in the mirror, you’ll see I’m right

stop the running; please stop the fight

We’re all right here, waiting for you

to feel the wealth of warmth so true

Light a candle for your cake and blink

and in a moment you will think

You’ve been surrounded with our strong arms

it’s us, you see, your lucky charms

With those who watch you from the sky

including Ross, twinkling his eye

For he knows just what you’ve seen

felt, done and where you’ve been

He’s standing by, as he does for me

my cousin, Julie, you’ll always be.

Shari

      For an entire year, Shari and I were dust devils, causing an enjoyable stir of strong whirlwinds wherever we went. I was attending the University of Hawaii Manoa, obtaining my fashion merchandising degree. Shari was transferred to Oahu from Rochester, New York, by Rotelcom, a telecommunications company, for a one-year contract. Carol, a girlfriend’s sister, who also worked at Rotelcom, met Shari in the office the first day Shari reported to duty.

I was working in a clothing boutique in the evenings after class. Sue, Carol’s sister, worked at our second boutique. Sue and I were out several nights a week after our shifts, listening to music. It seemed as though the fun would never stop. Sue met Jeff, her eventual husband, and began staying home. I needed a new friend.

            When Carol met Shari, she said she knew of someone who was right up her alley. That night, Shari and I went to Moose McGillycuddy's, a local club, to hear a band. After consuming several Long Island iced teas, we began walking to Sue’s place to spend the night. On the way to her apartment, we encountered stumbling blocks.

At the time, I was living in my office at the University of Hawaii, to be closer to school. I was an assistant to the director of the recreation program. Although I wasn’t supposed to be living there, I left a difficult situation and had no where else to go. Sometimes, I slept at Sue’s.

Shari and I soon moved into a high rise near campus, so I could ride my bicycle back and forth to class. During our time together, we made friends with numerous awesome Brazilian men, scoured every inch of Oahu, welcomed several visitors from the mainland, danced at The Wave, (our chosen club), spent the weekend hours on our favorite beach and stopped by a friend’s place of employment to offer some mischief.

            One Friday night Keith, a friend of ours, called looking for sympathy and to let off steam about his roommate. He said his room-mate fell asleep while smoking and caught their apartment on fire. I burst into a fit of hysterical laughter and he slammed down the phone, leaving my ear ringing. The next morning on our way to the beach, after having a big breakfast at Moose’s, Shari and I stopped by Keith’s workplace to make amends.

The microphone, which was used to call employees in the back parking lot, was sitting right there on the counter. Grabbing it and pulling it toward me so Keith couldn’t reach, I blared into the mic the lyrics to the Talking Heads’ tune “Burning Down the House.” Keith’s eyes burned with rage as Shari and I made a run for the door.

One weekend, a friend of Shari’s asked to park his brand new Corvette at our place while he went to the mainland for a couple of weeks. The temptation was far too enticing to resist. We promised each other we would take it out for a spin just one night. We weren’t able to get the driver’s seat to move forward so Shari’s 5’4” frame could reach the pedals of the car. The 6’2” owner positioned the seat to accommodate his long legs. I put a pillow behind Shari’s back in an attempt to compensate for the difference. Prior to this, we had only the local bus for transportation. Now, we had the keys to a car!

Having a car was too good to believe. Despite our promise, we drove it everywhere we went. Coming home late one night after an outing at The Wave, we couldn’t be bothered with the pillow. It was after 2 in the morning and all we wanted was to get home. Shari pulled her friend’s car into our parking garage and instead of parking in our designated parking stall, Shari took the first one she saw near the elevator. Unable to reach the brakes (while driving way too fast), Shari wiped out an entire wall of aluminum mailboxes.

We had a group of musician friends who were crazy popular on Oahu at the time. Having them in our company meant wild times wherever we went. One night, we celebrated the drummer’s birthday at our place with dinner and a special cake in the shape of a breast. The band had a gig that night on the other side of the Island; however, we’d already invited a gang of other friends to our party. The musicians needed to head off to their gig while the party was in full bloom. Shari and I wanted to go with them so we left the raging party in the hands of our capable guests.

We stayed overnight on the other side of the Island. When we finally walked off the bus the next morning and near the front door of our apartment complex, we saw a couple of police cars out front. We wondered what in the heck was going on, although we didn’t care too much. The only thing on our minds was sleep.

We headed up to the 27^th floor on the elevator and then stumbled out to our apartment door. There stood four police officers with their arms folded across their chests. Accompanying them was Kathy, the manager, of the building. Shocked, we asked, “What’s going on?” Kathy yelled, with veins bulging in her neck, “The party you had last night nearly killed someone next door!” One of the officers told us we were really in the doghouse.

Kathy said someone had been throwing birthday cake, yes, the cake, champagne bottles, food and clothing off the lanai (deck) into the neighbor’s small pool while people were swimming. We told her we hadn’t been home at the time. We apologized profusely and promised it would never happen again.

She told us to look inside our apartment to see the mess for ourselves. I found the key (finally) and slowly opened the door. Within an instant, Hapa, our pet rabbit, ran into the hallway. I grabbed Hapa, saying we were just keeping him for a friend for the weekend. As I opened the door again, I stood frozen with my mouth gaping.

Our once-tidy, beautifully decorated apartment was trashed! We could not see a square inch of the plush, new cream-colored carpeting. There were dishes, bottles, clothes, food and bodies everywhere. Kathy said, “You’re evicted! Pack your belongings now!” and stormed off, with the officers in tow.

We woke everyone up and told them to leave. After that, we took a nap and then began cleaning. By the end of the night, we had our apartment back in tip-top shape. We went down to the manager’s apartment to apologize. Kathy’s husband answered the door, however, she refused to speak to us. We asked him to take a look at our efforts. We begged him to give us one more chance. He liked us for some reason and said he would talk with Kathy.

Shari’s one-year contract and our one-year lease ended. Shari returned to New York and I moved in with another girlfriend. Later, Shari married, became the mother to three children while continuing her full-time employment. It’s been more than 25 years since our escapades on Tusitala Avenue, however, I remember 1983 vividly. Everyone should have such a year; memories like these are made to last a lifetime.

We were united on Oahu in 1983

Carol knew best friends we would be

Out to Moose’s for Long Island iced tea

the dancing, the boys, the hilarity

At closing time, down the stairs we did stumble

into the bushes I did tumble

You kept blabbing into thin air

you didn’t even realize I wasn’t there!

You pulled me from the office where I lived at school

into a highrise, where the clouds did rule

It didn’t take long to make hundreds of friends

in my mind, to this day, the laughter never ends

The Brazilians we met turned our world on

the food, the parties from dusk ‘til dawn

We met real musicians; they came over to play

the police the next morning did have their say

You met a nice guy, who loaned you his car

plowing into our mailboxes; the brakes were too far

Keith managed Aloha Funway Rentals

singing to his clients; he thought we were mentals

Off to Moose’s again for eggs and rice

and breakfast Bloody Mary’s, which were quite nice

Walking to the beach to soak up the sun

the alcohol, too, oh, what fun!

We became so tan; our hair so blonde

dozens of boys thought you quite fond

Once, at The Wave, we danced to The Hat,

where Peter, the cutie, sang with Marty; oh, drat!

Chris, from England, won your heart that night

you left something behind; things didn’t feel right

When Leni truly swept you off your feet

it seemed no other man you’d meet

Riding the bus home from Ala Mo

we recounted how your boys come and go

Your work ended in a year

my life was over, this was my fear

24 years later, you’re still my sister

since knowing you, life’s been a twister

Perhaps when we’re old we’ll return

to our haunts with more than lessons to learn

Of how to stay young, carefree and wise

we’ll soak up the sun, stare at the skies

In Hawaiiana, the land of love,

aloha is spread from up above

Our lives have changed, our hearts still in place

one day, we’ll meet in the sacred space

Recounting the memories of those so rare

our treasured days with nary a care

Until we meet for our reunion trip

I’ll do my best to remain quite hip

We know each other’s secrets; GOD does, too

our souls are stronger; our hearts beat true

Who knows what lies ahead in our future years?

time will tell as we grind our gears

With this thing called life, our daily chore

would we change a thing; could we ask for more?

Than what we’ve seen, done or had

one thing’s for sure; I’m very glad

I met you, my friend, indeed

You’re with me in my hour of need

Saying the right things to soothe my heart

although it’s true, we’re miles apart,

You’re by my side every step of the way

I’m grateful to GOD, you’re here to stay.